


Ink and Water

by Vad



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Creature!Bilbo, Drowning, Elrond is SO pissed at thorin here, M/M, Merpeople, Misconceptions, Sickness, Smaug - Freeform, Water, a halfling than thought, are more half, but the, dwarfs, everyone knows, merman, sick, the elves reeeeeaally loves them, the hobbits - Freeform, though you wont see that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 03:41:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vad/pseuds/Vad
Summary: Thorin and company needs their 14th member and recruit one after convincing their good will to the most beautiful woman (Lady Goldberry) that one of her many children could help them reach the underwater entrance to sneak up on Smaug and that this someone would be good taken care of. Bilbo Baggins. Trouble is they don't really know what kind of man they are bringing with them, worse their youngest seem to grow a little too attached to this man who seems to grow more and more frail as they travel.(im not good with summaries)





	

Ripples in the water travels far and long, sometimes they dwindle sometimes they grow. Large turning into waves, hitting the shore. Nothing alive moved more silently than water and nothing could sing more loudly. But for this mission they had needed silence and when their own search for an answer had gone fruitless lo and behold one of the Istari to present themselves with an outrageous suggestion. For dwarves there were no secret that the roots of the Lonely Mountain went far and deep, what had been a secret was the veins of water that trickled next to the veins of noble metal. Little life were in the water, the miners that had been chosen for the company were ones of the few who had worked far enough down to know. They had however said rather briskly towards the wizard that the rivers had all been gridded and barred, and even before that the only life which had been in the waters were small fish. The response from the wizard was a laugh and saying that then they ought to all go fishing. 

As their scribe and documenter of their journey Ori did not see the significance of the wizard’s words before they stood there in front of a small hut in the halfling’s forest. To be fair none of them had, and none but Balin knew how to properly handle themselves around the large man with the huge boots. Especially not with all the rhyming and singing. Somewhere along the wizard’s words did they get invited for supper to meet the lady of the waters which was the hatted man’s wife. If the master of wood, water and hill had confused them then the River-daughter had them absolutely enthralled, never in their life had such a simple household with clay pottery and painted woodwork seemed like a palace. And here they dared enter asking for help without not really knowing what help they were asking. 

Their supper had been warm and hearty, most, if not all of them had forgotten why they were there had it not been for the feeling that embraced them when Gandalf aired the topic with rivers. The word had but passed the old Istari’s lips and the air around the enchanting Lady Goldberry had sunk, where the essence of spring had danced around her it left her looking like an early autumn’s morning. Just as alive and colorful, but with frost tinted at the edges. None but the wizard had understood, though all of them had been ever so grateful when the Lady greeted them in the morning with an address and a letter to be given to the house owner. 

The letter had been to a Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, whom had not been at all pleased by their company in fact he had denied and refused to be their burglar until he came running the next day, rugsack packed and forgotten his handkerchiefs. Later they would learn why he regret leaving them behind so. Bilbo was an odd but kind fellow, a good friend whom Ori liked more and more each passing day. Together they could talk of stories, knitting, crocheting and more surprisingly inks and inking. It served them well that their chosen burglar was quite the cartographer and knew just as much about inks as their scribe did. What a delight that was. 

At Rivendell the elves had looked at the hobbit in quite a peculiar fashion and among the teasing songs about Balin’s most significant beard, (which did not mean that his back was bad and he would trip over his beard and fall into a lake of any sort.) There were rhymes which sang to the beardless of their group to come play by the waterfalls and stay for falls and summers. Not only was that the wrong way to suggest a stay of seasons, summer came before fall and they were already in it. Bilbo did not like water. He seemed to shun it! Did not even join them while bathing. Thorin boiling every other hour of the day grumbling about how in the world this Halfling were going to be able to burgle the Mountain by the water ways if he was so scared of it, but Gandalf implored them to trust him that Bilbo would indeed be able to do his part of the mission. 

The elven lord Elrond seemed also willing trying to persuade Bilbo to stay in Rivendell, especially when the map seemed to hold moonink showing the entrance from the large lake underneath Dale that should be a nexus of underground rivers. No one could hold their breath so long, but the merriment at the last safe house had that worry to fade. It was Bilbo who had signed the contract and would have to pay what he had promised to do. When the elfs seemed to make more determined suggestions to have Bilbo stay after their lord had revealed the moonrunes, and the just as secret white council held a following meeting Thorin decided it was time for them to slip away. Thus their stay at the elves were shorter than two weeks long and the mountain pass was their next move. 

The stay had however proven to his brothers that Ori really did favor the little hobbit whom had talked their way out from being eaten by trolls and complained soundly by the lack of good weather whenever it rained. Ori could swear that Bilbo looked ill when the rain was heavy. In the mountain storm it seemed that he was getting weaker and more clumsy than what the wind would make them, in the end big brother Dori hoisted him on his back all the while the scribe watched their back sure he imagined whispered apologies from his dear friend. 

They lost him in the caves, Dori had carried him on his back again when Bilbo could not keep up with their sprinting with his big feet. They were outside when they first realized and Nori had hold his younger brother back to go back in to call for their lost friend. Ori had to turn and hide his tears when Bilbo appeared from out of nowhere, drenched and missing all but a single brass button, it would not bode well for him if the rest of the company noticed how emotional he were for one outside their kin. Not that they were given any time to, the wizard urging them on because the goblins would come out as the dusk fell and avenge their slain king. 

The event which followed boosted the respect and gave a tremendously belief for their hobbit when the ruffled up Halfling stepped through the fire to defend the blood of Durin on his own. The tales of how the brave Bilbo Baggins stood up against Azog the Defiler and his team of mounted orcs with naught but what could be called a dagger was one of the stories that children now joyfully asked for a repeat telling before they found sleep in their beds. 

On their journey they had hoped that the worst was passed them, that was of course only wishful thinking. There had been a huge skinchanger, who had picked the hobbit up and tickled him under his shirt! Ori had not known what to do, blushing behind his diary, while Nori elbowed him in the side with a snicker. In the forest it had been Bilbo who had warned them of the cursed rivers and freed them from both spiders and elves. Broken into the impenetrable woodland realm had he, stolen the prison key and stuffed each and every one of them into Barrels. The barrels had been gruesome. Full of itching hay, thumps and bumps bruising the skin as they rushed down the river. Bilbo was sick when he got them out at Lake Town. Skin pale to a blue hue, the blonde curls wet against his skin and voice rasping with a dark tone which sounded off from such an innocent creature. Even with all the care and medical attention from Oin and men, their burglar’s health did not improve. His bed was wet as if he had a fever but his skin was as pale and cold like the day they had been broken out of the kegs. Ori had talked then, out of his mind and so close to the mountain with the sleeping dragon that he had not had it in him to hold back. Tears falling when the clammy hand took his with a smile and asking for forgiveness of all things. 

He had not been rejected for Bilbo had said that such feelings was better made when all had a home again and no Dragon were to smoke them out. They stayed together more often, now with the secret out, Ori by the bedside talking and practicing smoke-rings until their time were almost up. The love in the young dwarf’s heart had blossomed then enjoying the hobbits company every so more while writing and caring for his crochet-work. He had not understood it then, what kind of sacrifice the hobbit had promised to make and why the eve before their set departure (for the men should not know what way they intended to take back their homeland) he had felt tears on his head while they slept.  
The hobbit had been so weak in the legs at that day that Dori had to carry him. The men did not like them taking a sick along with them but Bilbo was most persistent and lied well to their case: ‘oh hobbits do have weak feet all the time, a wonder an old one like me get to see anything at all of the world had not these fine dwarves had the heart to take me with them when I pleaded them to.’ The lie had worked wonders for few knew of hobbits and what Halflings were, even they themselves did not. Not before Bilbo asked to be put down in the dark lake water, not flinching at the sure cold temperature. 

Astonished they witnessed that while the hobbit could no longer walk he could surely swim. Bofur gave him the key of the grids of the water and Bilbo smiled a thanks and dipped down. Ori sat starring at the lake long after the ripples from the dive was gone. No creature could hold their breath for so long and when the sun had dipped past the forest he had desperately waded out in search for his one’s undoubtedly drowned body even though he himself could not swim. Nori noticed first yelling words his brother’s muddled mind could not understand, for they were designed to stop him, and going after. But it took Nori and Dori both to drag him back up on dry land and it was through those tears the rest of the company knew of his lost heart. 

The next day there had been a bouldering sound from the Mountain, a roar which had made Balin whisper the word dragon underneath his beard. They could only assume that their burglar had actually been able to get in, water and magic be damned. Ori was on pins and needles until the next afternoon, by supper, he swore he spotted golden curls in the water and rushing after them only this time when his feet could no longer hold him up another pair of arms did. Bilbo held him, the blue eyes and wet curls smiling at him telling him off promptly asking ‘dear Ori, have you forgotten you can’t swim?’.

When Bilbo let him go halfway and did not seem inclined to follow the way up, Ori did not question and stayed in the water, teeth chattering. Thorin demanded a report and proof, and as it were the hobbit threw up a large golden goblet from the water complaining he was hungry and that the fish in this place were devious little buggers. Bite on his ears they did! When invited up he declined by saying that it would spoil his body for the water temperature, ‘hobbits are different you know’, and he rather eat just there. Along with ‘Ori please go sit by the fire, we can’t have you catch a cold as well’. Ori did not sleep, not one little nap, staying awake on his bedroll all the while Thorin explained how Bilbo could find the Arkenstone and Bofur how he had to open the backgate for all of them and they would go by foot to meet him the next day. Bilbo replied that he would indeed have the door open but that would be the end of his contract if he did, the stone they could find themselves and he were to fight no dragon regardless how polite the being spoke to him for his deal was to break in and get them inside and not even the tantrum Thorin threw could budge him for he knew as well as them that they needed the Halfling to get in.  
The whole night they talked and Ori eaves dropped, becoming surer and surer that the halfling’s words were different, the voice carrying the subtle sound water makes on a windowsill after a brisk summershower. Out in the morning he found that sleep must have taken him for Ori was rushed awake and Bilbo was gone. The walk up towards the mountain felt longer than their entire quest, half ready to bolt but not knowing to where in this barren land should the dragon fly out the main door. There were no dragon attack then, they did find the backdoor open but no Bilbo. Worried they searched, searched until their eyes found the gold followed by another roar ringing in their ears by a very angry dragon. Ori does not remember much from that fight, except that there were a lot of running and Thorin had a plan that failed miserably as it set the dragon out after the village of Laketown. What he did remember was the surprise and delight of finding Bilbo, mere two days after they had begun searching for the king’s jewel.

The dragon Smaug was slain by the people of Laketown and Thorin demanded their door to be fortified and the miners who knew the way down were told to check the bars on the waterways to be sure. Ori had followed Bofur for he could no longer bear the harsh words of Thorin or the longing song his heart sung for Bilbo, whom all but he believed either eaten, roasted or having fled once Smaug went after them which were, after all, reasonable. No one would blame him. The rhythm from their boots hitting the carved stone echoed through the deep caverns, for the steps of the stairs were just a little too tall in such a way that your foot fell heavy against it. It was obvious that the path had been built for quick access between watchmen and nothing more. Shadows danced both on walls and them as they made their way down, Ori could not say he liked it. Bofur stumbled over and let out a pitched scream, tumbling back up by using Ori as ladder and then picking his feet up after him faster than what Ori had ever seen a dwarf. Ori did not flee or run, for in the dim light of Bofur’s abandoned lantern he recognized the creature. Bilbo. It did not look like the hobbit though, first off there was no feet. At all. No it was a tail, a large fishtail splayed out on the dirty stone floor, scales and all. Glittering scales that went all the way up to the familiar worn shire shirt and broken green waistcoat. Soft curls lay still upon the tiles and that was when the young dwarf realized that their burglar had not noticed them coming or even Bofur’s scream. With hurried caution, he had knelt and tried to turn Bilbo around. He managed half-way, just enough to lift Bilbo up to hold him close to his chest. The chest rose ever so slightly and Ori might have wept for his one was not dead or gone. Changed but not dead. 

Sobbed out calls for both Bofur and Bilbo to come back to him, was enough for the miner to return, rather shaken, and a rasped voice saying his name with wonder added to it. None of them believed the situation, yet knew what had to be done when the transformed Halfling gasped out the word ‘water!’. Ori was not the strongest dwarf, but Bofur were strong and together they had carried the remarkably now quite heavy Bilbo Baggins down towards the waters they had been sent to check. They were both sweat and dirt when they finally made it and lowered their burden as gentle as they could into the icy black water. Ever so slowly did their burglar stir, and they could now both take in to what extent he was changed. There was the tail of course, but his skin had paled and hands grown slimmer and darker. That same blue darkness colored the tip of the nose and pointy ears but the eyes, those gentle and lovely eyes, were still the same. 

They had hugged, Ori and he, both leaning over the edge and when Bofur managed to stutter forth the question to what had happen to the hobbit’s body Bilbo had chuckled and asked if they really had brought a Halfling half across Middle Earth without knowing why they were called halflings. They soon learned that halflings was the name given to them for their ability to live seemingly in both water and on land. Though not entirely true it was not wrong. The reason Bilbo had become so sick after the barrel ride was that his exposure to water had been so high he had already then started transforming to his other half of being as it were, but by doing so there was no turning back for long enough to fully live on land again. He could gain his feet for a short period and it had been just enough so to run up and open the door, but the sudden heat of the dragon and the near earthquake rocking which the dragon battle had caused had made him stumble and lose his footing enough to have him not being able to return to the water before the change was on him again. 

It was just how things were and it was laughed away by him while watching their puzzled faces. As strange as it was Ori could not find it in himself to be apprehensive, too often had he seemingly lost his one to perils most people only used to scare their children with and as the days progress he kept Bilbo company in the dark cave. When the others of the company learned they too came to pay visits, to see if it was true and catch a break from the search. All but Thorin came and all that was shared of Thorin felt bad and increasingly so when they still had not located the Arkenstone. Ori had learned later that Bilbo had become a friend to vent to and hear kind words from, not only for he but the whole company. At the day when the they first rejected the refugees of Laketown Thorin had made his way down and made a point of casting suspicion of betrayal of every each of his kind. That night Ori had not found Bilbo at the riverbank nor the next day. It took three days and by then there had been another meeting by two armies at their fortified door, men and elves asking for upholding promises. Thorin had bluntly refused, even when the man presented them with a trade with a gem which shone so bright it had to be the stone of which the King was seeking. Demanding to know how the race of men had found it, the king had gotten an answer that seized Ori’s heart in fear. The stone had been gifted to them to be used by trade as the fourteenth share of Bilbo Baggins. Outraged Thorin had sprinted down the halls and Ori, finding courage in his fear, pursued after.  
When he arrived it was to the terrible sight of their King strangling a struggling Bilbo, having been hauled up and pulled along the floor. The great tail were fruitlessly flailing around, water and gravel thrown about. Bilbo fought to lessen the grip on his neck, the king’s fingers deep within his gills, but his arms did not have the strength to it. Red colored the dwarf’s fingers. 

The bloodied words through Bilbo’s gasping told of how Thorin had changed, about how even down here he could hear how cruel and doubting the King under the Mountain had become. It served only to make Thorin angrier. Ori had leapt forward, doing his best to wrestle the chokehold away barely noticing in the midst of it that there were others there helping. 

Bilbo had hit the water and dived, hearing curses and banishments from a near frothing Thorin as he did. Ori had watched the ripples in the water grow and fade. It had been the last he had seen of him, even now when the war was won and Thorin back to himself again. The banishment had been withdrawn but how could they tell him? Ori had tirelessly sought for texts within the old, newly reclaimed, great library but few texts hold any info of hobbits or halflings. The elves had more but not much in the ways to how to make contact with just one dwelling in such a huge lake. It all seemed so pointless. But Ori needed to tell and Bilbo had to know he was welcome. More than welcome, for Ori’s heart still lamented its longing for companionship to the one they had scared away and it would not be silenced before his own days were past. 

He knew Bilbo could no longer return to the Shire for that would take him through the cursed rivers of Mirkwood and Bilbo had said himself he would not dare put one foot or fin near the ill water. It had been the true sacrifice of Bilbo which they had only now begun to see and understand. Bilbo who loved his home in the Shire (with his books, maps and food) so dearly could never return to it. He had given up his home to help them regain theirs and on their way he had either forgotten, given away or lost all which could ever remind him of home. All but one brass button on a torn waistcoat. Suddenly the stubbornness of holding onto it until the very end did not seem such an oddity like they had teased. Poor, dear Bilbo.

There was the possibility that he had fled further down the river all the way to the sea of Rhûn or even the Iron Hills. But that did not settle well with Ori, but should he hear the word then his rugsack was ready and he would take the wizard’s advice to go fishing. Ori was not afraid, not anymore. His family would be proud of him going. He had grown. However there had been no such words and there had been no ripples in the dark water. As the months had passed by and spring had awaken the grass and flowers which the hobbit held so dear, Ori found it in his heart impossible to stay in. His heartsong thundering through body and mind. He had begun walking along the river, sometimes way past New Dale and back to the remains of Lake Town longing for the long conversations they had shared back then. 

A large stone neatly placed in the water, flat and just so that he could wade to it, was the place Ori tend to be sitting while he drafted up his diary. The early summer sun baked so he had seen fit to wrestle his boots off and soon the large jacket followed, but the scarf he kept for the wind was still cool. A clear breeze had him shudder a smile, thoughts travelling to the night he had dropped eves to hear Bofur and his dear trying to reason with Thorin. Harmless clouds of white rolled over the blue sky, birds twittering announcing their nest to be the best for a mate. Sighing, Ori twiddled the horseshoe flowers he had picked on the way. One of them made it into today’s entry, to be preserved between the pages, the rest were gifted to the lake. Did Bilbo like horseshoe flowers? If he was still here, would he see the bobbing stems from underneath and come up in wonder to see the spring-flowers bathing?

Edged down to the waterline, the young dwarf let his toes touch the surface. First one (a pitched sound from him told the bushes and birds it was cold), then two, then all ten. Small rings of ripples travelled into the nothing of the wide lake. By a whim the scribe remembered their discussion of inks and gently dipped his quill in the water. Dark swirls came forth, looking like smoke underwater. Very soon the ink set was out and several colors joined and danced alongside the usual black. He was standing now. Water up to his waist, blue lips not caring the least about the cold for his heart song of fond memories of dry bedrolls by a fire and trading jokes. 

Smiling and giggling at his own game was when he spotted something that could not be in the water ahead. Heart singing, the feet moved on their own. The icy water pressing against his chest as it rose. Ori walked until he could walk no further and slipped face under with his last step. 

Heavy was his wet clothing. Kicking and flailing helped only so much to keep his head up, eyes dared not look away from that spot where he was sure he had seen. Limbs strained and cramped with pain. Ears filled with water he could not hear. Air left his lungs to the water when he tried speaking. Water forced his eyes shut. 

“Dear Ori, have you forgotten you can’t swim?”

**Author's Note:**

> No, he did not die, Bilbo rescued him. Bilbo was told he wasn’t banished. Ori purposed to court him one more time, feet or fins did not matter. They built a nice little home around that place with the river that Bilbo could reach, adopted a school of fish and lived there. END. 
> 
> I hope you liked it :) I do not have an editor or beta reader IDK what it is called so if you got this far I applaud you. Thank you.


End file.
